Karl dragged her away from the corpse. It looked as though there had been a struggle between Martha and her murderer. The nursemaid had probably refused to give up the child, whereupon the murderer had first cut off her hand and then killed her with another stroke of his sword.
A stroke of his sword.
Karl’s eyes turned to the wooden floor and saw bloody footprints.
Very large footprints.
He grabbed Greta and pulled her to the door. Not far away the first firecrackers exploded, and a solitary rocket painted a red arch above the courtyard.
“Where do the fireworks get lit?” asked Karl breathlessly. He shook Greta, who still seemed in a daze. “Where?”
“Probably upstairs . . . up on the terrace. There’d be enough room. But—”
“Quickly!” ordered Karl. “I think I know where we’ll find your son. May God ensure that it isn’t too late.”
The pope reclined in his throne with a smile on his face, like he was expecting a present. Indeed, now Johann heard a crying that quickly became louder.
Someone was coming up the stairs with a child.
“And there he is, the little one!” Leo clapped his hands, and the panthers pricked up their ears. Moments later, Hagen appeared on the terrace with a crying child. The boy was kicking his legs wildly, but Hagen held him in a viselike grip.
Sebastian! thought Johann. My own flesh and blood.
It nearly broke Johann’s heart to behold his grandson for the first time in this way. Sebastian had his father’s hair and perhaps also his stout build, but Johann recognized the child’s black eyes immediately.
My eyes.
He took a step toward Sebastian and Hagen, whereupon the giant slowly shook his head.
“Don’t even try,” said Leo. “The boy will only die sooner. Better enjoy the few moments you have with him. And remember: he is giving his young life for a good cause, the well-being of Christendom. Besides, he is baptized and thus guaranteed a place in heaven. Unlike you.” Leo’s voice had become malicious and sharp, and Johann wondered how many poor devils had heard this voice as they’d suffered on the rack, deep down below Castel Sant’Angelo.
“Why Sebastian?” asked Johann, not wanting to arouse the pope’s suspicions. Johann’s expression was blank, but inside, his thoughts were racing. He would only have one attempt—one lousy attempt, but he had to risk it, had to stake everything on one card.
“It was your old master’s idea that we use your grandson for the ritual,” said Leo. “It could have been any child. But I liked the notion, and to be frank, I thought good old Viktor would also appreciate it. I wanted to give this moment of revenge to him as a gift. Now he’s missing it, unfortunately.”
Johann closed his eyes and counted down in his mind. It was like during one of their juggling shows years ago, except he hadn’t been able to practice this time. It was like a dance on the rope without a net.
Three.
Johann’s hand slid into the satchel. Little Sebastian was screaming at the top of his lungs now, his face bright red. Hagen held him by the scruff like a rabbit before slaughter.
Two.
Johann heard a low growl behind his back.
One.
“One wrong movement and my darlings will rip open your throat,” said Leo. “They adore Hagen because he always brings them the finest meats. Romulus and Remus would never forgive you if you harm as much as a hair on Hagen’s body. You better accept your—”
Now!
At lightning speed, Johann’s hand shot out from the satchel and hurled the vial of spirits of salt at Hagen. He had stealthily removed the cork inside the bag, and now the contents of the small bottle were spilling over Hagen’s right thigh. Johann would have preferred to hit the bastard right in the face with it, but then he would have risked hurting Sebastian.
But even so, the effect was enormous.
With a hissing noise the liquid ate through Hagen’s leather trousers and, roaring with pain, the giant fell to the ground. The child slipped from his grasp.
“My darlings will tear you to pieces for this!” screamed the pope. “Romulus, Remus!”
The beasts hissed and pulled at their leash. Johann darted to one of the firepots, snatched it, and held the flames to one of the many fuses connected to other fuses. There was a soft hiss as the string caught on fire.
“Noooo!” yelled the pope. “The ritual! The ritual isn’t complete!”
Thick smoke spread around Johann; there were crackling sounds and blue sparks flying. Then the first rockets howled into the air. Red, green, and blue dots exploded high above the terrace and expanded into star shapes. The deafening noise had precisely the effect Johann had intended.
The panthers went mad with fury, confusion, and pain.
The idea had come to Johann when Leo had raved about his pets earlier.
Sadly, my darlings can’t cope with noise.
Beside themselves, the two big cats tore at their ropes, which were wrapped around the throne. The chair crashed to the side, and Leo rolled onto his back like a fat beetle. All around them were thunder, hissing, and cracking as if Judgment Day had arrived. Finally free, the panthers were behaving like a pair of snarling demons. One of them pounced onto the pope while the other prepared to leap in the direction of Johann and Hagen, who was still screaming as he held his leg.
Right between Johann and the panther lay Sebastian.
Once again Johann noticed how much the boy resembled him.
My grandson.
Then the panther pounced.
27
WE HAVE TO GO ALL THE WAY UP TO THE ROOFTOP TERRACE!” shouted Karl to Greta as the first rockets exploded above them. “The ritual must take place under the open sky—that’s how it’s written in The Sworn Book of Honorius.”
They ran upstairs, crossed numerous deserted chambers, racing on as Greta’s heart felt like it was going to burst. Fear for her son almost drove her insane. Until then she had been convinced that the tale about the ritual to summon the devil was nothing but balderdash—just more lies by her father to lead her astray. But now dear Martha had been murdered and her son was missing. What in God’s name was going on here?
Greta had never been to the castle’s upper levels, as they belonged exclusively to the pope. But she instinctively found the right way, as if she sensed where Sebastian was. Outside, they could hear thundering, howling, cracking, and the shouts of delight of the crowd who’d gathered to admire the fireworks. To her ears, all the screaming sounded as if the apocalypse had commenced.
The noise led them in the right direction. She and Karl came to the staircase to the upper terrace, and Greta screamed when she saw Lahnstein lying at the bottom of the steps in a pool of blood, staring at the ceiling with empty eyes, his final expression showing shock and also wonder, as if he couldn’t believe his own death. From outside the door, in addition to the noise of the fireworks, they could hear someone screaming in agony and a growling.
And the crying of a child.
“Sebastian!” shouted Greta. “Sebastian, are you there?”
She had never particularly liked Lahnstein, but he had been a steady companion over the last two years and the person who had smoothed the way for her here in Rome. The death of the papal representative came as a shock, but she had no time to dwell on it. Her son was up there, and he was in danger. Greta leaped across Lahnstein’s corpse and followed Karl up the stairs. The piece of night sky they could see through the rectangular opening was shining in all colors, and still more rockets exploded and traveled across the firmament as bright, flaming arrows. Greta ran out onto the platform.
And stopped as if she’d turned to stone.
What in heaven’s name?
A smudged pentagram was on the floor in the center of the terrace, and inside the pentagram lay a throne on its side beneath a baldachin. Groaning and tossing about in a mess of fallen and broken wooden poles was Hagen, the giant mercenary who had always been at Lahnstein’
s side. Farther back, Greta saw a black panther pinning a man to the ground with its paws, and the man was screaming as if out of his mind.
It was the pope.
The beast had torn the Holy Father’s robe, and his fat, pale body was exposed. Leo was bleeding from several wounds. He was shielding his face with his hands as the panther sank its teeth into his shoulder. Greta couldn’t help but think of all those poor Christians who, a long time ago, died in this manner at the Roman Colosseum.
“For heaven’s sake, get the monster off me!” screeched Leo. “Hagen, do something! Jesus Christ . . . it . . . it is eating me alive!”
The panther took another bite, and the pope screamed like a berserker. Greta remembered a few lines from the Book of Revelation that she’d read just a few days ago.
And the beast which I saw was like unto a leopard, and his feet were as the feet of a bear, and his mouth as the mouth of a lion.
Only now did she notice the second big cat on the terrace. It was prowling toward the balustrade, which was only hip high, forcing a man closer and closer to the abyss. When Greta recognized the man, anger and hatred welled up in her.
It was her father.
In his arms he was holding little Sebastian, who was screaming and squirming and calling for his mother.
“Give me my child, you devil!” yelled Greta.
She was about to rush at Johann, but Karl held her back.
“Don’t you see that he’s trying to protect your son?” he hissed at her. “One wrong movement and the panther will jump!”
Karl was right; Greta saw now that her father was trying to shield Sebastian from the beast. Without taking his eyes off the cat, Johann gently set Sebastian down and took a step forward, positioning himself between the panther and the boy. Sebastian stood as if rooted to the spot, staring at the animal in fear. The pope’s screams had stopped, but the rockets still howled.
“Whatever brought you here, you come just in time,” said Johann, panting. He looked terrible—his face was raw with some kind of rash, and his voice sounded hoarse. He didn’t take his eyes off the panther, who was snarling and obviously waiting for the right moment to pounce. “I am going to distract this black devil here while you fetch the boy.”
From the corner of her eye, Greta saw with horror how the other panther lowered his blood-covered snout into the ripped throat of the pope. Leo’s eyes stared lifelessly into the sky; there was no doubt that he was dead, torn apart by his own pet.
Greta struggled to suppress another scream. What in heaven’s name was happening? She was trapped inside a nightmare! All that prevented her from going insane was her son and making sure nothing happened to him. Slowly, her whole body shaking, she walked toward Sebastian, who was just waking from his shock. He began staggering toward her, his little arms outstretched.
“Mama!” he whined. “Mama . . . scared . . . bad kitty.”
“Oh God, don’t move, Sebastian!” implored Greta, trying to keep her eyes on both panthers at once. “Stop where you are! Mama is nearly there.”
The panther by the railing seemed indecisive as to which prey was more tempting: the small, easy boy or the man trying to block its way. The animal hissed and growled, shifting its weight from paw to paw, its tail lashing across the stone floor. Johann waved his arms about wildly and roared at the big cat.
“Come on, you devil! You want human flesh? Then come and get mine! I promise you, it is as poisonous as a viper!” Johann also hissed and bared his teeth.
Greta thought it looked as though two equal beasts were facing each other, demons from a dark world that wasn’t her own.
“Come and get me!” yelled Faust. “Jump!”
And the panther did.
The beast looked like a black shadow, blacker than the night that was illuminated by countless rockets. For a few seconds, Greta felt like everything happened much more slowly. She saw the panther’s muscles tense as it leaped forward, flying toward the balustrade. She watched as Johann dropped to the ground at the very last moment. The cat vaulted right across him.
It seemed to hover in midair for a tiny instant.
And then it was gone, swallowed up by the darkness.
“Go to hell, you filthy cur!” gasped Johann. He got to his feet and peered into the depths beyond the balustrade. “Claws and teeth, but a brain the size of a walnut.”
His hands clasped the stone railing as he breathed heavily. Greta was about to rush toward Sebastian and wrap her arms around him when Karl yelled out.
“Greta, watch out! He’s right behind you!”
The second panther! thought Greta.
She felt a shove in her back that made her stagger. It was not the panther but Hagen, who was storming past her, reaching for Sebastian. He yanked the screaming boy up by his legs and lifted him into the air head down. In the other hand the giant was holding his bloodstained sword. His leather trousers were torn, showing the gaping wound beneath, but he managed to stay on his feet.
“Not another step,” growled Hagen. “Or I’ll toss this whining bastard over the edge. I doubt he knows how to fly, even if his grandfather is a sorcerer.”
Greta froze. Her son was just a couple of yards away from her, crying and whimpering and calling for his mother. But she couldn’t help him—not now. Beside the dead pope lay the second panther, its skull split by Hagen’s sword. Leo himself was barely recognizable, his throat ripped, his face a bloody mass.
The devil took the pope, thought Greta.
Cautiously she tried to bring Hagen to his senses. “Give me my son,” she said to him. “Please! I don’t know what’s going on here. I only know that Sebastian is an innocent child who has nothing to do with any of this.”
“A child with a certain value,” replied Hagen with a smirk, weighing the whimpering bundle as if he were a sack of gold.
“We can’t stop you from fleeing,” said Karl, who had walked up beside Greta. He seemed shaken but unhurt. “We are unarmed. You don’t need the child as a hostage—you can just go.”
Hagen raised both eyebrows. “I’m afraid you don’t understand. I don’t want the child for a hostage. I’m going to bring it to someone who appreciates my work. Someone who is going to pay well for the little one—very well.” He bared his teeth. “The high and mighty often make the mistake of underestimating the likes of us. They think we’re nothing but dumb soldiers, waving our swords about and incapable of adding two and two. But I figured out long ago who is truly in charge here at Castel Sant’Angelo. It isn’t the pope—oh no! Hasn’t been for a long time.” He laughed. “I think Lahnstein had a hunch. But one must always remain a step ahead, that’s what I learned at war. I know where the master is waiting, and I’m going to bring him the boy.” Hagen pointed his sword toward the bloody corpse of the pope. “I’ll have to find a new master, anyhow. An even more powerful one. Now please excuse me. It’s time to disappear before the guards discover this mess.”
Without taking his eyes off Greta, Johann, and Karl, Hagen walked to the stairs with the crying and squirming child in his hand. He was limping, dragging his right leg. Slowly he stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind him.
Bolts were pushed across and locks clicked shut. But even through the heavy iron door Greta could hear the cries of her son for a long time, calling for his mother.
They were growing fainter and, eventually, all was quiet.
Greta only noticed now that the rockets had ceased. After all the noise, an eerie silence spread across the terrace.
The fireworks were over.
Johann leaned against the balustrade and noticed that his face felt damp and warm. When he brushed his hand across his forehead, it came off wet with blood. Evidently, the panther had still caught him with one of its paws before falling to its death. Johann gazed at the chaos upon the platform. It looked indeed as if they had invoked some kind of demon. Between the charred scaffolding, knocked-over firepots, and shattered vials lay the maimed corpse of the pope, and next
to him the black panther.
It could have been worse.
“Sebastian! Sebastian!” Greta’s screams startled him. His daughter had run to the closed door and hammered her fists against it.
“Don’t bother.” Johann stood up with a groan. His body ached all over. When he had saved his grandson from the panther, he had smelled the beast’s rotten breath, breath that had come straight from hell. “The guards will be here soon.”
“You know what that means, don’t you?” Karl looked down and across to Sant’Angelo Bridge, where the crowds of people slowly dispersed. “They will think we killed the pope!” Karl gave a desperate laugh. “Doctor Faustus and his two helpers summon the devil, who then comes and takes the pope. Ha! At least we’ll go down in Vatican history with this tale. The death penalty for this crime hasn’t been invented yet!”
“I don’t think they’ll want to shout it from the rooftops,” remarked Johann tiredly. “I’m guessing the cardinals will try to gloss over the whole affair. They can’t afford the story to come to light that the pope tried to invoke the devil. I think they’ll say that Leo died very suddenly of illness. And very soon white smoke will rise above Vatican Hill.”
“The smoke from our burning flesh is going to rise,” snapped Karl. “We won’t get away from here. This is the end.”
“And my son is lost,” breathed Greta. All her strength seemed to have drained from her body. She was cowering at the bottom of the closed door, her face ashen. “It’s like a curse,” she said to Johann. “With you, evil returned to my life. All those years working at Santo Spirito as a sister—for nothing!” She shook her head. “God is punishing me. But why is He punishing my son?”
“I tried to save your son,” murmured Johann, but he could tell that Greta wouldn’t hear him now.
They were all lost—Greta, Karl, Johann, and, worst of all, little Sebastian, whom Hagen was taking to Tonio del Moravia at this very moment. Johann still didn’t really understand the intended purpose of the ritual on the rooftop. If Tonio was the devil himself—which Johann now assumed—then why would he persuade the pope to invoke him? Leo’s ritual had failed, but what good was that if the devil was already in Rome?
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