Book of the Night

  “First of all, I can’t trust anyone here in the camp,” replied Senno, rubbing his waxed beard with embarrassment. “My reputation is, ah . . . not the best, as you probably know. And secondly, if Schönborn is looking for you so urgently, there’s something about you he fears. It seems there is more to you than one might assume.”

  Lukas clenched his teeth, and thoughts flashed through his head like tiny fireworks. Everything Senno had just told him was so insane, so bizarre that he just wanted to get up and leave. But hadn’t he also had some bizarre experiences lately? Even if Senno’s stories about black and white magic were just nonsense, it could still be true that Waldemar von Schönborn was a traitor with plans to kill Wallenstein. If they could find some incriminating documents, it might be possible to extort him and to find out where Elsa was, if she was still alive.

  Lukas was still sitting opposite Senno, petrified. The flickering light of the lantern seemed to set the animals on the flags dancing, and the whole room started to spin. At last, Lukas began to speak.

  “Very well, I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll walk into the den of the lion, but only under one condition.”

  Senno raised his eyebrows. “And that would be . . . ?”

  “I’ll take my friends along—one for all, all for one. Perhaps that’s not a magic formula, but at least it’s something just as powerful.”

  The astrologer began to chuckle.

  “You may be right, lad, friendship is indeed a magic bond.”

  XX

  “You want us to break into Schönborn’s monastery and steal some documents for this crazy astrologer?”

  Giovanni stared wide-eyed at Lukas, and Jerome and Paulus opened their mouths in astonishment. They’d come together before dawn in the ruins of the old mill. All night, Lukas had been wondering if it was really a good idea to have his friends along on this dangerous mission, but he finally decided to tell them his plan. He needed all the help he could get.

  “I don’t even know myself if we can trust Senno,” Lukas admitted, “but at the moment, I have no other way to learn more about Elsa. Senno intends to extort Schönborn—”

  “And found a few stupid minions like us to help him,” Paulus interrupted. “It doesn’t matter if we get caught and tortured, we’re just a bunch of kids from the baggage train. Lukas, I really don’t know what to say about that, apart from the fact that it’s a suicide mission. Even if we manage to get inside the monastery, we have no idea where to look, and the place is probably teeming with all these eerie Spanish mercenaries.”

  Lukas stared through one of the smudged window openings, where dawn was beginning to break. As so often in recent days, the countryside was wrapped in dense white fog. Inside, they were sitting on worn, moss-covered millstones with a single torch they had brought along for light, which made Lukas feel even more despondent. Paulus was right! The whole idea was more than risky. He still hadn’t told his friends that Schönborn was perhaps a real sorcerer; it was difficult enough already to convince them of his plan.

  “Then, like it or not, I’ll have to do it alone,” he muttered.

  “Wouldn’t that suit you just fine!” Jerome said. “So you can have all the martyr’s laurels to yourself. No way—we’re coming with you!”

  “Really?” Lukas asked timidly.

  Giovanni grinned. “Of course, you idiot. To even have a chance of success, you’ll need my intelligence . . .”

  “And my strength,” Paulus grumbled. “Too bad it’s not a cloister with young, pretty nuns—then we would have some use for Jerome.”

  “Hey, what do you mean—” Jerome burst out. But at that moment, they heard a commotion in front of one of the windows. Paulus put his finger to his lips, ran to the window, reached through the opening, and pulled in a struggling, kicking creature by the back of the collar.

  It was Daniel.

  “Let me go right away, you . . . you fat monster!” the boy shouted, pummeling Paulus in the side.

  “And what if I don’t?” Paulus replied, lifting Daniel up in the air. “Are you going to call the Swedish king to help you?”

  “Let him down, big guy,” Giovanni said. “You’re going to choke him. Make him tell us what he’s doing here.”

  “Well then?” said Jerome, rolling his eyes. “It’s obvious this annoying kid is looking for someone to play with again. Since he knows where we hide out now, this little leech won’t let go.”

  Paulus set the boy down on the ground roughly. Daniel crossed his arms defiantly and glared at the older boys. Despite the unfortunate situation, Lukas had to admit to himself he was actually a bit happy to see Daniel.

  “Ha! I listened in on you,” the boy snarled. His face was just as soiled with dirt as the last time they’d met. “I know what you’re going to do.”

  “It was only a game,” said Lukas, trying to calm him down, fearing that Daniel would blurt out their secret in the army camp. “Nothing you heard was meant seriously.”

  “You’re lying!” Daniel shouted. “I know you’re going to break into the monastery and look for something there, and if you don’t let me help you and your gang, then I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” He hesitated.

  “What will you do?” asked Paulus in a threatening tone.

  Daniel was silent, but his eyes flashed like a wild animal at bay.

  “Naturally, you can stay with our gang,” said Giovanni, who was also trying to calm the boy down. “I have a suggestion. We’ll go to the woods with you tomorrow to practice shooting—”

  “No, I’m going with you to the monastery,” Daniel interrupted.

  “You’re doing what?” said Lukas with disbelief.

  “I’m going with you to the monastery. I can help you.”

  “Well, isn’t that a great plan!” Jerome clapped with feigned enthusiasm. “A little kid like you smuggles us past the guards and guides us to the strictly confidential documents of Wallenstein’s father confessor. Why didn’t we think of that ourselves? An ingenious plan!”

  “There’s a changing of the guard every two hours at the monastery,” Daniel replied in a serious tone. “For a short time, the back door is unguarded. Of course, you have to sneak past the mercenaries in the hallway. And, ah, yes . . . if you’re looking for documents, they are probably in the archive on the second floor.”

  For a long time no one said a thing. The four friends just stared at Daniel as if he were a ghost.

  “How do you know all that?” Lukas finally asked. “Or did you just make it up?”

  Daniel shook his head. “I’m in the monastery every day, and I know every room there, from the cellar to the attic. You won’t find a better guide than me.”

  “Do you belong to Schönborn’s retinue?” Paulus inquired. “Are you a baggage carrier for his soldiers?” When Daniel nodded, Paulus tore at his hair and groaned. “Damn, why didn’t you say that before? It would have saved us a lot of trouble.”

  “Nobody asked me,” Daniel replied coolly. “So do you think I can come along?”

  “Not so fast,” Jerome said, turning to Daniel. “Listen, kid. I believe now you’re telling the truth and you really are part of Schönborn’s retinue. Perhaps you work there in the kitchen or something like that. But this is no easy matter. Why don’t you tell us everything you know about the monastery, and—”

  “Either you take me along or I won’t say anything more,” Daniel declared.

  “Good Lord, did anyone ever tell you that you’re a real nuisance!” Paulus shouted. “If I were your father, I’d beat you black-and-blue at least three times a day.”

  Daniel grinned. “But you’re not my father.”

  Lukas had to smile as well. In many ways, Daniel reminded him of his sister. He was about to turn back to the boy when he heard a noise outside in front of the mill, and he suddenly fell silent. It sounded like the voices of many men.

  “It looks like we have visitors again,” Giovanni whispered. “Isn’t there ever any peace and quiet here?”

&
nbsp; He crept to the window opening and peered out into the early light of dawn. Quickly he withdrew, then turned to the other boys, his face as white as chalk.

  “What’s the matter?” Lukas asked.

  Giovanni’s hands began to tremble as he pointed toward the window. “See for yourself.”

  Now the others came running to the window. Lukas squinted and recognized a group of soldiers creeping through the forest nearby in the early morning fog. Though they were speaking softly, it was audible, and what they spoke was not German.

  They were Swedes.

  “What are they doing here?” Jerome whispered. “I thought King Gustav Adolf had taken his troops to their winter quarters, just as we have.”

  “Apparently not,” Giovanni replied. “This looks like a reconnaissance party, and wherever there is a reconnaissance party, there’s an army not far behind.”

  “Do you think the Swedes are going to attack us now—at the start of winter?” Paulus stared at him. “But . . . but . . .”

  “That doesn’t make any sense at all, I know.” Giovanni nodded grimly. “And that’s just the reason they’re attacking us now—because we don’t expect it. You’ve got to admit, it’s a stroke of genius. We’ve got to go and warn our men as soon as possible, or Wallenstein’s army will be wiped out!”

  More and more Swedish soldiers appeared from behind the dark pine trees and fanned out in the forest. Lukas had long ago stopped counting them. There were dozens, probably even an entire company. A smaller group now proceeded straight toward the mill.

  “If they find us here, then it’s over for us,” Jerome groaned, “and I’m afraid it’s already too late to circle around them.”

  “Then, like it or not, we’ll have to break through their lines,” Paulus responded, reaching boldly for his saber.

  Lukas pointed at Daniel, who was standing next to them with an anxious expression on his face. “And how about the kid? We can’t just leave him here alone.”

  “We’ll bring him along and take the troops by surprise in front of the mill,” said Giovanni, also drawing his sword. “The fog outside is pretty dense, and if we’re lucky, we can get through their lines without being caught.” He took a deep breath. “At least we’ll have the element of surprise in our favor. On three, we’ll attack. One, two, three . . .”

  Paulus kicked at the rotted wooden door, which burst open with a crash, revealing a handful of astonished Swedes.

  “Together against death and the devil!” Jerome roared.

  “To hell and beyond!” cried Lukas, Giovanni, and Paulus all at the same time.

  Holding little Daniel by the arm, Lukas ran toward the Swedish soldiers. The fog had gotten even thicker, billowing over the land, enveloping much of it like a white shroud. The soldiers had recovered from their initial confusion and were running toward the friends with drawn swords. Behind them in the fog, other soldiers became visible. Holding Daniel firmly with his right hand, Lukas lashed out with his Pappenheim sword. He could feel his blade sliding through something soft, then he heard a groan, and now he was past the first line of Swedes. The others ran alongside him toward the forest, still enveloped in darkness, where the first outposts of Wallenstein’s winter camp were located. If they could get that far, they would be safe.

  More soldiers came running toward them. There was a loud bang, and through the white fog Lukas could see the flash of a gun muzzle. He cursed himself for not having loaded his own pistol earlier, but now it was too late.

  The bullet had obviously missed them, as he could see Giovanni, Jerome, and Paulus, along with Daniel, still running next to him. Slashing with their swords, the friends fought their way through, and the Swedes withdrew, cursing angrily. Another shot followed, and this time Lukas heard a shout of pain.

  Giovanni stumbled forward a few steps before collapsing.

  “Giovanni!” Lukas cried. He wanted to run over to help, but he also had to care for little Daniel, who was clutching his hand so hard it was almost as if they were bound together.

  “Giovanni!” Lukas cried again, as he continued stumbling through the forest. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jerome bending down over their injured friend. For a moment, Lukas was distracted. There was a sound of something whistling through the air as he was attacked from the side, and only at the last second was Paulus able to come between them and ward off the blow from the Swedish soldier.

  It had missed Daniel’s head by a hair.

  “Run ahead with the kid!” Paulus called to Lukas. “I’ll take care of Jerome and Giovanni . . . Hurry!”

  Paulus ran back to his two friends, around whom a dark cluster of Swedish soldiers had gathered. Lukas could see there were far too many—his friends would never make it—and he got only a quick glimpse of Paulus before a cloud of fog passed over the scene.

  Lukas ran on with Daniel, who was clinging to him in terror. It couldn’t be much farther to the clearing. Lukas thought he could make out a lighter area in front of them with a red glow of individual campfires. Their winter quarters! He continued running, with the shouts of the Swedish soldiers right behind him.

  When they had almost reached the clearing, suddenly another Swede rose up directly in front of them out of the fog, like a phantom. Grinning, he approached Lukas and Daniel with a raised pistol.

  “Förbaskade skitstövel,” the Swede cursed as he aimed.

  There was a flash, and for a brief moment, Lukas saw blue stars before his eyes. Assuming the flash came from the pistol, he fell to the ground, pulling Daniel down with him. Above them, the Swede shouted. It sounded as if he was in great pain. Lukas looked up cautiously and saw the soldier whimpering and rubbing his eyes. Had he injured himself with the shot? Everything around Lukas was gray, and he couldn’t make out anything. Then something strange occurred to him.

  I didn’t hear a shot . . . How is that possible?

  There wasn’t any time left to think. He scrambled to his feet, took Daniel by the arm, and ran on until he finally reached the edge of the clearing. Before him in the fog, Lukas could see the first campfires in the Kaiser’s winter quarters, and the angry shouts behind him faded away. He stumbled toward the nearest fire, where a sleepy watchman squinted at him.

  “Say, lad, what’s going on?” the guard grumbled. Then he yawned and got to his feet. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Not a ghost,” Lukas panted. “The Swedes! They’re coming! They’re already—”

  Gunshots could now be heard in the forest. Lukas turned around and saw his three friends running toward the campfire. Paulus had thrown the injured Giovanni over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and Jerome was right behind them. Again there were flashes of light at the edge of the clearing, then the report of a gun, but the shots missed their target. More and more Swedes appeared out of the fog, black dots in a line, but they didn’t yet dare leave the cover of the forest.

  Out of breath, the three boys finally reached Lukas, Daniel, and the watchman, who clutched his spear, clearly confused.

  “Quick, you idiot,” Paulus cried, “sound the alarm! Or do you want the enemy to rouse us from our dreams with their swords and muskets?”

  At last, the soldier began to understand. He reached for his horn, blew it loudly, and soon other horns answered from the other campfires—a wild cacophony that could be heard for miles, as the sun slowly rose in the east.

  The Swedes had arrived.

  Grim-faced, Zoltan entered the tent in the field hospital where the five boys were taken after their confrontation with the Swedes. “It looks like I have to thank you boys for the second time.”

  Outside the tent, the noise of thousands of soldiers could be heard hurriedly preparing for the battle to come.

  A bullet had grazed Giovanni’s left leg. It hurt, but fortunately was not life threatening. Paulus and Jerome had gotten off with a few bruises, though they’d had to fight like tigers against more than a dozen soldiers. No doubt the dense fog had saved the three of
them.

  “They were actually Swedish scouts you scared off,” Zoltan continued. “Their army is not far away from us.” The commander cursed and spat on the ground. “These incredible dogs don’t abide by any ordinary guidelines, they just go ahead and attack during the winter. But they’ll pay for this! Now that we know their plan, we’ll throw all our resources into the battle against them.”

  “But aren’t our men scattered for miles all around?” Giovanni asked. “And General Pappenheim’s army was recently sent back to Halle. How can he come to help us that fast?” Giovanni’s face was still pale, but evidently he hadn’t lost too much blood—in any case, his mind was functioning perfectly once again.

  “We’ve already sent messengers to Pappenheim,” Zoltan replied, “but you are right. We can only pray that the general and his men arrive in time. Meanwhile, Field Marshal Colloredo will hold off the enemy here while the Black Musketeers head for Lützen, where we shall meet up with the other parts of the army. That’s a small town, around ten miles from here. We’ll meet the Swedes there for our last great battle.” He looked at them earnestly, one by one. “I expect to see you in the front line, as is appropriate for the Black Musketeers. Except for Giovanni, of course, who will stay here in the hospital tent. And . . .” Only then did Zoltan appear to realize there was a fifth boy among them. Daniel had been sitting quietly in the background, still terrified by the strange encounter with the Swedish scouts.

  “What’s this little rascal doing here?” Zoltan asked, puzzled. “He’s not one of us.”

  “Eh . . . that’s Daniel, from the baggage train of the inquisitor Waldemar von Schönborn,” Lukas explained. “He got lost in the woods when the enemy came.”

  “Aha! Lost . . .” Zoltan squinted suspiciously. “Then send the little runt back to Schönborn. I’ve heard that Wallenstein’s father confessor is staying here in the monastery. I’ll be glad when I can get rid of that troublemaker. I was afraid I’d have to watch a few poor sinners get burned at the stake.” He clapped impatiently. “And now hurry up! The next time the horn blows, we march off. Don’t disappoint me.”