Henning Glossner
My entire body trembled with nervous excitement on Saturday afternoon when I struck out to keep my appointment at Pritzl, a family-owned pub nestled in a cozy neighborhood not far from the Liebig property. I knew next to nothing about the place, except that its owners stocked a variety of peach Schnapps my Truhtein and I used to enjoy whenever I achieved a new goal. Since I cracked the code of the spiritual realm one day earlier, I planned to order a bottle in celebration, whether Mr. Fiery Long Hair—the Keyholder of Erlangen—approved or not.
While I did not appreciate Lenz putting me on the spot, I knew I would have to face the Keyholder sooner or later, if only to learn whether he, too, believed this city’s mystical soul had chosen me to embody her essence. Yesterday e
