Kupfer led Montag up to third-floor main. As they went, Macurdy considered what he'd read in Landgrafs aura. The colonel was a discouraged man, and Montag's demonstration had not noticeably changed that. Perhaps some of the others had also given good demonstrations, then failed to improve sufficiently.
They stopped at an unmarked door, and the captain knocked. "Kommen Sie rein," called a voice, and they went in. Inside stood easily the tallest man Macurdy had ever seen, intimidating not only by his height, but by presence and strangeness. He wore a semi-fitted black coverall that emphasized his rawboned slenderness. A tall, bag-like black cap with red splints and a knit, dark-green band covered his forehead, accentuating an almost albino-white face. His piercing eyes were as green as Varia's, but their resemblance ended with their color. These eyes were cold, impersonal. Macurdy felt like a bug on a pin.
"Good Morning, Baron Greszak," Kupfer said. There was no Heil Hitler. "We have a new student for you. This is Herr Montag, from East Prussia."
This giant was one of the reported foreigners, that was obvious. A German might conceivably have that build, those features, perhaps even that name, but the aura was distinctive; different than any human aura Macurdy had seen before, ever. Different in kind.
Greszak didn't trouble to acknowledge Kupfer's greeting. Instead he examined Macurdy thoroughly. "And what is it, Herr Montag, that causes you to be considered psychic?"
"I can start fires. I can light your cigarette. With my finger!"
"Hmm. Show me. Light Captain Kupfer's cigarette." Grimacing sourly, Kupfer took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips. Then Montag created a brilliant bead of glowing plasma an inch from his fingertip, and a minute later the cigarette was smoking.
The Voitu did not change expression. "What else can you do?"
"If someone is cold, I can warm him with my hands." Greszak stepped around his table and reached out a very long hand. "Warm it," he ordered, and Montag did. Greszak regarded him for a moment, then without speaking, turned and went into a connecting room, closing the door behind him. "Arrogant swine!" Kupfer muttered. Macurdy wasn't sure how much of Greszak's attitude was arrogance, and how much simply foreignness. He looked toward the two stacks of books on the table-from their spines, all were in German-and wondered if Greszak intended actually to read them. And if he did, how far he'd gotten. Certainly his German seemed fluent, what little he'd heard.
The door opened again in half a minute, and Greszak gestured him in, closing it after him, leaving Montag alone with a man almost a head taller than Greszak, more than seven and a half feet, Macurdy guessed. He had the same pale skin and green eyes, the same black coverall that might be a uniform. The same slender build, the same peculiarities of aura.
"Kurt Montag," he said, "I am Kronprinz Kurqosz. Baron Greszak told me what you showed him. What else can you do?" Montag simply stared. Suddenly Kurqosz pulled off his strange cap, tossing it on the table-the move uncovering his ears, like two goat's ears, perhaps six inches long and pointed, covered with the same copper-red hair that, stiffened, covered his skull and formed a sort of crest on its meridian. "Now perhaps you have something to say."
Montag stared, his awe more genuine than pretended. "Jawohl, Herr Kronprinz," he answered. "What planet is the Herr Kronprinz from?"
For just a moment Kurqosz stared, then laughed a single loud whoop. "Der rote Planet," he answered. The Red Planet. He knew the German for Mars, but had translated literally from his own language. Macurdy might have taken him seriously, except for his laugh, and an auric reaction that in a human coincided with amusement.
"If you do not satisfy me, I will give you ears like mine. Now, show me how large a fireball you can make."
Montag made one perhaps an inch in diameter, which floated a couple of inches from his fingertip. Kurqosz stepped toward him, and reaching, tested it for heat, seeming surprised when, at several inches distance, it was uncomfortably hot, though Montag showed no indication of discomfort.
"Does it not burn?" he asked.
The question took Macurdy by surprise; he hadn't thought about it before. "No, Herr Kronprinz. It is my fire. It cannot burn me."
Kurqosz pursed his lips. "Interesting, interesting. Make it be thirty centimeters away."
"I-cannot, Herr Kronprinz. I-don't know how:" Kurqosz turned, gestured, and above a table, a hawk-like bird materialized, hovering on loudly thrumming wings that scattered papers from a table. Its head was like a great bat's, eyes glowing red, gaping mouth showing needle-teeth. "It can be killed by casting your fireball at it," Kurqosz said. "I will count to five, and if you have not killed it by then, I will have it attack you! One, two…"
At five, the thing darted forward. Montag's large right hand snatched, caught its head and crushed it. He felt its weight, its blood in his fist, its briefly flailing wings. "I'm sorry, Herr Kronprinz!" he cried, "I'm sorry! It was going to do something bad to me!"
Kurqosz stared, then grinned, cocking a quizzical eye. "Do not be concerned, Herr Montag. I can make as many of them as I wish." Without raising his voice, he spoke to the closed door: "Greszak, come and take Herr Montag back to his keeper. I am done with him for now. Tell the Hauptsturmfuhrer we may be able to do something worthwhile with this one."
When the bird had appeared, Macurdy assumed it was an illusion. But when it was launched toward him, or launched itself, his gut reaction was to defend himself. And it seemed well that he had, considering how real how physical!-it had proven. Sorcery like Kurqosz's exceeded by far anything he'd witnessed in Yuulith. What were these Voitar? Could they really have come from Mars?
And like Landgraf, Kurqosz had realized at once his ability-or at any rate his potential-to throw plasma balls. So much for secrecy.
Going down the stairs to Landgrafs office, a notion struck Macurdy. Opening his hand, he looked at it, willing the blood gone. And abruptly it was. Apparently Kurqosz's fierce bird was only conditionally real after all.
Macurdy found himself in a classroom. Nargosz was about Greszak's height but seemed older, and had less presence. He didn't dominate a room as Greszak did, let alone the Crown Prince. The students-Otto, Anna Hofstetter, and the elderly female psychic-were on break, Otto and the old woman sitting quietly, doing nothing. Anna, on the other hand, walked briskly around the room swinging her arms, perhaps the only physical activity she got, Macurdy thought.
Nargosz assigned Montag a seat, and after two or three minutes had Anna sit down. Then he had them all do a drill, in which they sat with closed eyes, visualizing. At varying intervals he had them visualize something different. They continued this for two hours without a break, then were released for lunch. After lunch, Macurdy thought of faking it-the drill seemed useless-but didn't. Clearly these Voitar were powerful magicians; perhaps the drills would take. He'd never thought of monotony as particularly instructive though.
By 2:00 PM he'd turned on a peculiar mental phenomenon: He was groggy felt desperately sleepy-but did not doze off. His head lolled as if his neck were a string, he slobbered, felt an intense, an excruciating longing to curl up on the floor. If only he could nap, just for a minute, he'd sit back up and continue the drill. Somehow he continued anyway, struggling, almost whimpering-then the condition faded, the longing passed, and the drill went easier. A little later, Nargosz gave them a ten-minute break, requiring all of them to get up and move around.