Demon Summoner II: Journeyman (2/3), page 1
Demon Summoner II: Journeyman
GREG WALTERS
Novel
The year is 1645. A murderous war has been raging in the Holy Roman Empire for 28 years and there seems to be no end in sight.
Gustav and his master have been banned from the Black Feldsher Guild and have had to take leave of the Swedish army. In the middle of winter, they roam the battle-scarred land as simple healers, helping the war-weary people. But their enemies are still on their trail.
“Martin is still in Saxony with his apprentice. Everything there has been devastated by war. The winter is harsh. People have nothing to eat. Wolves are back on the streets. It's hard to believe how many accidents happen every day ..."
© 2022 Gregor Timme
Author: Greg Walters
Cover design, illustration: Alexander Kopainski
Translator: Justin Beckham
Map: Karlos Valero
Sword: Królestwo_Nauk/Pixabay
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NEWSLETTER
Contents
1. The Discarded Black
2. Experiments
3. Red Traces of the Past
4. Luck of War
5. The Brooch
6. The Lost Apprentice
7. Half-truths
8. Jag Ber om Ursäkt
9. The Secret of the Camp Supervisor
10. Kupferdorf
11. Unexpected Help
12. Red Snow
13. The Children of the Mountains
14. Catgut
15. Words from the Past
16. The Hereditary Lands I
17. The Hereditary Lands II
18. The Pentacle
19. Race on the River
20. Night Journey to Prague
21. A Daring Maneuver
22. Demons and Dragoons
23. Fear of Losing
24. Eaten Bread is Soon Forgotten
25. Bound in Iron
26. Between the Lines
27. Thanks of Beata de la Gardie
28. Back to School
29. The Feldsher Codex
30. Send them Home
31. The Demon Master
32. Consilium Magnum
Also by Greg Walters
1
The Discarded Black
Löbnitz Manor, Electorate of Saxony, January 1645, 28th year of War
Gustav blew on his clammy hands. The cold bit deep into his bones. Despite the winter conditions, a long line of patients stretched in front of their cart, promising a busy day. Gustav couldn't blame them. Black Field Surgeons were a rarity.
No. Not Black Field Surgeons. We’re only field surgeons now, he corrected himself.
Gustav was still grieving that he and Martin had been found guilty, but he also knew that the Swedes had no other choice after what had happened in Osnabrück. After Hayo’s lies and Anike's betrayal, his master had become a liability to the Swedes’ position in the peace negotiations with the emperor.
"Next," said Martin, rushed. He had been treating the sick, or people who thought they were sick, throughout the morning. Villagers regularly came forward to ask for various miracle cures. At the top of the list were love potions, followed by rejuvenating agents and then, frighteningly, came the requests for poison. Gustav knew exactly why. Most people were unable to distinguish between a real healer and an ordinary barber. Barbers were good for cutting hair, bloodletting, and pulling teeth, but the potions they sold were worthless. The customers could count themselves lucky if they weren’t sick to their stomachs afterwards.
Gustav led the next patient, a bent, empty-eyed man, behind the yellow cart to their makeshift treatment tent. The large fire pit in the middle, which Gustav had been tending all day, was so hot that most patients were willing to undress at least a little if necessary.
The people in the tent glared at the new patient, muttering.
"He’s possessed …"
"… what we don’t want."
"The barbers should be careful, if he …"
Gustav’s stomach cramped. Not again. The scenes from Katelenburch still haunted him. The tribunal, and the merciless execution of Benjamin for his connection with a demon were burned into Gustav’s memory. If Martin ever finds out about Mela, that will be my fate too.
Martin washed his hands in a large bowl. A bloody tooth in a smaller bowl was evidence of the treatment he had given his last patient.
It was still strange for Gustav to see his master in normal, beige clothing—his dark gloves were all that remained from his former uniform. Without the black of the feldshers, he seemed smaller. But even stripped of his uniform, Martin used his vast knowledge of healing to benefit the villagers of Löbnitz.
Martin turned and gave the bent-over man an encouraging smile. "How can I help you?"
Martin never asked about the financial resources of the sick, but only what they needed. It was Gustav’s responsibility to find out whether they could pay or not. As a result, he usually collected a large supply of eggs, bacon, carrots, heads of cabbage, old bread, colorful buttons, and various household goods—but not much money.
"I think …" Gustav began with a low voice.
"I didn't ask you," his master interrupted him. The patient stared at the floor, his hair a greasy curtain over his face. Martin laid a hand on his shoulder. "Sir, how can I help you? Maybe you’d like to tell me your name? I'm Martin the Feldsher."
For a long moment, the man said nothing. Gustav was about to answer for him again when the villager’s mouth finally opened. "Fred is my name, Master Surgeon. Just Fred." He paused and then whispered something that made Gustav freeze. "I'm possessed."
Martin’s face remained friendly and serene. "And why do you think that?"
The man’s breathing sped up. His eyes rolled back and forth in panic, like a captured animal.
"Stay calm. Describe to me what’s bothering you." Martin led him to the stool on which he examined the patients.
"Believe me, Master Feldsher. I … I … speak in foreign tongues."
I was right. Gustav wanted to run away screaming. He never wanted to see his master kill someone again.
"Which languages?"
Fred looked at the surgeon for the first time. "What?"
"Well, you said that you can speak in foreign tongues, I'm just curious which ones. Because something like that would be quite a useful talent. My apprentice Gustav, for one, would certainly be grateful if he could speak Latin without even trying." He winked at Fred.
A smile flickered over the man's face.
Gustav admired how kindly Martin treated Fred, even if the joke had been at his expense. He couldn’t deny there was some truth to it. Just thinking about Latin grammar made his stomach turn.
"I don't know. The people I work with in the fields told me about it, but they only speak German, and I never remember anything from the episodes. When it happens, I start to shake and then the shaking gets worse until I collapse, and everything goes black. Sometimes it's already dark when I wake up again, and I always have terribly sore muscles."
"Aha," Martin said. "May I?" He pointed to the man's grubby shirt.
Fred nodded and opened his shirt. Bruises covered his torso. He winced as the feldsher probed the dark spots.
"Does this happen to you often, Fred, that you tremble and fall over?"
"Yes. Once or twice a month."
The surgeon nodded in understanding. "One thing I can assure you, you are not possessed—unfortunately just sick."
Gustav suppressed a sigh of relief just as his master turned his focus on him.
"So, my dear Gustav. This man passes out often. He has bruises on his back and abdomen. He can’t remember anything that happens to him, and he has very sore muscles. Which disease typically has these symptoms?"
"Um …" Gustav had been so convinced that the man had bonded with a demon that he hadn’t given any thought to a medical diagnosis.
Martin cocked an eyebrow. "Yes?"
Gustav ran through the symptoms in his head. Forgetfulness, sore muscles, frequent passing out … He started to sweat under Martin's impatient gaze. Seizures … that was it. "Epilepsy, master. I think he suffers from epilepsy."
Martin nodded, satisfied. "What did the Greek Hippocrates wrongly assume was the cause of epilepsy in his work On the Holy Disease, Gustav?"
He had been expecting this question and had already scoured his head for everything he knew about the affliction. "Cold mucus flows into the blood and makes it come to a standstill, Master."
"Very good," Martin said, as he looked into Fred’s throat. "In ancient Greece, and unfortunately for far too long, people tried to cure your disease according to the principle of contraria contrariis—treat opposite with opposite. Fortunately for you, we no longer live in such a dark time. You don’t have to deal with atrocities like bloodletting, burning iron, or even trepanation."
Trepanation. Gustav shivered. Drilling into the skull was one of the most terrible methods of healing a
"Unfortunately, the prayer and fasting recommended in the Gospel of Mark are also of little help. What do we do instead, Gustav?"
Gustav lifted his chin. Reading the old Latin texts was slowly paying off. "Paracelsus showed that epilepsy must have a natural cause because animals also suffer from it. They cannot be possessed because they lack a soul."
Martin gave the tiniest of smiles. Gustav's master believed that too much praise spoiled an apprentice.
Fred understood the logic. "So, animals have it too …" he murmured to himself.
"Unfortunately, we cannot cure this disease, but we can alleviate its symptoms with a decoction of valerian root."
Their patient's face reflected a mixture of joy and disappointment.
Martin fiddled with one of the many boxes in his cart and came back with a dried tuft of the medicinal plant. "Boil a few of these. Drink a cup every day and the epilepsy will decrease."
With trembling hands, Fred took the medicine.
"Do you know where to find valerian here in the area when this supply runs out?"
Fred nodded but did not let his eyes leave the plant. His hands clutched it tightly.
"Good. From now on always carry a small sturdy stick with you. Bite down on it when the shaking begins so you don’t accidentally bite off your tongue during the seizure. And tell your friends and acquaintances not to try to move your arms and legs during the seizures, they might break them. Instead, they should make sure you don't hit your head on anything and that you’re kept warm, especially in this weather."
Fred couldn't stop nodding his head.
"I'm going to talk to the administrator of your farm and explain everything to him, if that's ok with you, so that no one will gossip about Fred the field worker anymore."
A huge smile stole over the man’s face. "How can I thank you, sir? This is more than I deserve."
Martin looked at him kindly. "No, this is the least someone afflicted with this disease deserves."
"Thank you, sir. I thank God in heaven for sending me an angel in human form. I will pray for you and your clever apprentice. Unfortunately, I don't have much else to offer …"
Gustav had guessed it.
"Why don't we just stay here?" Gustav knew his voice sounded whiny, but he was not happy about having to go back out into the cold. The day was coming to an end, and it had started to snow.
"Because the manager wants money from us when we stay here, and we are not exactly swimming in cash at the moment, as you know very well."
Gustav snorted. If his master would stop treating so many poor and destitute people, they might be able to spend the night in a warm house or at least in a stable.
Martin seemed to read his apprentice’s thoughts. "Don't fret. Unfortunately, we’re no longer as respected as we were when we were still allowed to wear black. The man was too nice to say it, but he just didn't want us on his estate overnight. We are strangers in a war-torn country." He slammed the door of the cart and climbed up to Gustav on the seat. "You can sleep in the cart with me. Once we get to Zeitz, I’m sure we’ll start earning more again. These are difficult times …"
"Which we owe to the cursed Hayo von Dietrichshagen—and Anike. It’s their fault we’re only allowed to treat people and not demons."
"Do you miss the creatures of the night?"
"No, of course not," Gustav hastily assured. "But my black cape and the beautiful brooch do." Gustav stroked the place where the symbol of the Black Feldshers, the silver claw, used to be.
"Don't worry about that. The guild will take good care of it until they decide on our case." The surgeon snapped his fingers and Jolande pulled the yellow cart over the forecourt of the estate. "The Swedes had to do what they did.”
"Still, being thrown out of the city in the middle of winter is not exactly polite."
Martin gave him a stern look. "We could have been hanged as traitors instead."
That’s the second time I’ve escaped that fate, Gustav thought.
"Without Torstensson's intercession, we would have been. Hayo's influence goes a long way. Much further than I thought. It was a mistake to underestimate him …" Martin sighed. "And Anike."
The vipers we let into our nest. Gustav couldn't decide whether he hated Anike or was still in love with her. Or both.
Snow covered the paths, and it was getting dark. They didn't drive far, instead making camp on the roadside near the White Elster. The river gurgled in the darkness. Martin went to organize things in the wagon and Gustav lit a fire to banish the biting cold, grateful to finally be alone. Ever since they’d been stripped of their black uniforms, Martin covered the cart with cloth whenever they were around other people, and Gustav hadn’t had a chance to see if the symbol on the side of the cart was still stuck as a demon skull. He rounded the side of the cart. The symbol alternated between a rose and a demon skull as it always had. In the twilight, the symbol served them well and ensured by its constant glow that they always had some light. Martin even claimed that the sign kept away wild animals. Relieved, he left the cart and trudged through the snow into the trees to gather more wood.
"Dammit," Gustav cursed as a low-hanging branch dumped its load of snow on him. Furious, he spat snow out of his mouth and shook himself off.
He’d gathered only half a load when Jolande whinnied. He paused. The stoic mule only made noise when she was afraid.
Gustav's heart began to pound, but he made himself stay still. Everything’s fine. Martin will see to Jolande.
Jolande whinnied again. Where was Martin? Deep voices spoke and someone whooped. Heavy boots smashed wood.
Gustav's mouth went dry. He thought of the night his father had died. Because of my fear. At the time, he had vowed never to be a coward again. His hand moved to his sword, and he swore under his breath when he remembered it was packed away in the cart. Just like with his black uniform, he wasn’t allowed to wear it anymore. He selected one of the thicker wooden sticks he had collected for the fire and crept closer to the camp, eyes open—being brave didn’t mean running directly onto an enemy's sword.
The fading daylight showed silhouettes running around the fire. One slipped into the interior of the wagon. Two others held his master by the arms, while a third punched him in the face.
Anger erupted in Gustav, and he readied himself to plunge into the fight. There was no way he’d leave his master to these rogues. Then Martin spoke.
"I’m alone. I left my apprentice behind in Osnabrück. I can't train him as a black feldsher anymore anyway."
He wants me to keep myself hidden. The idea chafed. He wouldn’t be a coward again. Again, he thought of his home, burned to the ground, and his father’s cold, dead body. Before he could make a move, one of the men asked his master something that gave Gustav pause.
"Where is it?"
He couldn’t hear Martin's answer, but the questioner didn't seem to like it, because he hit him again.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about! Where are you hiding it?"
Tell them. No possession is valuable enough to die for! Gustav pleaded silently.
To his surprise, however, his master replied, "I don't have it anymore."
Before Gustav could make rhyme or reason of this answer, a deep voice behind him made him cringe.
"I have you, my little one!"
2
Experiments
Vienna, Residence of the House of Habsburg, January 1645, 28th year of War
Johannes hurried across the courtyard, pulling his coat tighter against the icy January wind. This part of the Vienna Hofburg was the oldest of the Habsburg residences. Ferdinand I had conducted extensive reconstruction work in the last century, but the four looming towers of the castle were left in place. They were an unmistakable sign of home for every resident of Vienna and formed an impressive backdrop to the city. The magnificent seat of the Habsburgs served as a model for seats of power throughout Europe. The Holy Roman Empire—unparalleled on earth in its power and reach—was ruled from here.
