‘The creep, he could have told us everything straight away!’ I exclaimed angrily. ‘He had already dealt with a Tiger!’
‘Zabulon never tells everything,’ Erasmus replied.
‘And how about you, Erasmus?’
‘Neither do I,’ Erasmus chuckled. ‘I don’t play the Watches’ games, thank you very kindly! But only idiots tell everything. Information is both a weapon and a commodity.’
‘If it’s a commodity … it seems to me that you owe us something,’ I threw out tentatively and looked at the absurd bonsai standing above the fireplace.
Erasmus frowned and also gazed at the gift from Gesar.
‘I do,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘Only I can’t tell exactly how much … All right, ask. I’ll answer a few more questions. Let’s say three. Three questions, three answers.’
Oh, these old magicians, with their old-style formalities! Three questions, three answers …
‘You said you were waiting for me,’ I said. ‘That you’d been waiting for a long time, thinking that I was French …’
‘Perhaps it’s for the best that you are Russian,’ said Erasmus. ‘I haven’t really liked you Russians very much, begging your pardon, since the Sebastopol campaign. But I like the French even less.’
‘Ever since the Hundred Years’ War …’ I murmured.
‘Just about. But you Russians are past history now. You’re a dead enemy, and a dead enemy can be respected and pitied.’
I wouldn’t have expected myself to respond like that. The glass cracked in my hand, scattering splinters and the remaining drops of whiskey across the floor, and something very unpleasant must have appeared in my glance. Erasmus instantly raised his hands in a reassuring gesture.
‘Stop, stop, stop … This is only my opinion, the opinion of an old clairvoyant who has withdrawn from the affairs of the world. I … I did not take into account that you are still so very young, Antoine. And I was overly brusque.’
‘To put it mildly,’ I said under my breath.
‘None of the Great Ones links himself with the nation from which he has emerged,’ Erasmus said in a conciliatory tone. ‘But you are young, and I forgot that. I offer my apologies, An … Anton.’
‘Accepted,’ I replied sullenly.
‘I really had been expecting you,’ said Erasmus. ‘The point being that one of my prophecies referred to myself. It was nothing really special – just a few words: “And at the end there shall come to me Antoine, who shall learn the meaning of the first and be witness to the last.” ’
I frowned.
‘What is that about?’
‘It’s about me,’ Erasmus explained. ‘Quite possibly your visit means that I shall die soon. And you will learn the meaning of my first prophecy and witness my last one.’
‘What is your first prophecy about?’ I asked.
‘Is that the second question?’ Erasmus asked, to make sure.
‘Yes!’
‘I don’t know,’ the old prophet said, smiling. ‘I told you, I shouted the prophecy into the hollow of an old oak.’
I had to think for about half a minute before I asked the third question. There was no point in arguing about the second one that had been wasted so lamely.
‘Can you explain to me, clearly and distinctly, in what way can I hear your first prophecy?’
Before replying, Erasmus poured himself some more whiskey. Then he asked: ‘Are sure you want that? Two hundred and fifty years have gone by, but what if that prophecy has not yet been fulfilled? If so, the moment you hear it, you will trigger the mystical mechanism of prophecy … First, it can come about, if you tell a human being about it. And second, as long you alone know the prophecy, the Tiger will hunt you.’
‘Yes, I want it,’ I replied. And I thought about the toy phone lying in my pocket, with the boy Kesha’s prophecy (possibly) recorded on it.
‘Perhaps you are right,’ said Erasmus. ‘Knowledge is a great temptation that is hard to resist …’
He stood up and walked over to the sideboard, opened it and took something dark and dusty out of the deepest corner. He held it in his hands for a second, examining it, then walked back to me.
‘Take it, Anton.’
I took the small, dark bowl – or, rather, chalice: it had a wide top, but there was also a small base, covered with simple, unpretentious carving. The chalice proved to be surprisingly light.
‘Wood,’ I decided.
‘Oak,’ Erasmus stated.
‘Is this …’
‘Well, it’s not the Holy Grail, of course,’ Erasmus chuckled. ‘I carved it myself out of that oak tree.’
I looked questioningly at the old Prophet.
‘I don’t know,’ said Erasmus. ‘I don’t know exactly how to hear the prophecy. But plants have a memory too. And it’s there somewhere … my first prophecy.’
After a moment’s thought, I raised the chalice to my ear and listened intently to the sound of my own blood. Alas, no voices …
‘Perhaps I should fill it with wine and drink it?’ I asked.
‘In that case, whiskey,’ Erasmus chuckled. ‘If you drink enough of it, there’s nothing in the world you won’t hear.’
He had a satisfied look, as if he had just cracked a good joke.
‘I think you’re being cunning with me,’ I said. ‘You either know … or you can at least surmise exactly how to extract the information.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Erasmus, not arguing. ‘But then Gesar didn’t explain his present, did he now? And I don’t really want you to hear the prophecy.’
‘I can hardly blame you for that …’ I agreed. ‘Although you seem to take the prediction of your own death rather calmly.’
‘Prophecy,’ Erasmus corrected me, turning his back to me and reaching out his hands towards the fireplace. ‘But you don’t know just how vague prophecies are. “At the end” – whose end? Mine? Or the whole of humanity’s? Or does it simply mean the time – at the end of the day?’
‘It can hardly be the time,’ I said. ‘It’s morning now.’
‘I ought to have asked you to come round in the evening,’ said Erasmus, throwing his hands up in the air. ‘Although, there is one other possibility! “At the end there shall come to me Antoine …” ’
I said nothing.
‘Perhaps it was about you?’ the prophet suggested amiably, giving me a sideways glance. ‘And you have come to me at your end … and, after all, if the Tiger starts hunting you …’
‘That’s what I don’t like about you Dark Ones,’ I said, getting up. ‘Thank you for the chalice.’
‘Don’t be offended, Anton.’ Erasmus was either embarrassed, or he was pretending to be. ‘I only wanted to forewarn you and indicate all the possible meanings of the prophecy …’
‘How long is it since you were last in contact with Zabulon? I asked abruptly.
‘Permit me not to answer that question …’ Erasmus said, with a sigh.
‘Consider that you already have,’ I said. ‘Give my greetings to your teacher.’
Since we were in London I felt justified in taking my leave in the English style, and did not say goodbye.
CHAPTER 4
THAT EVENING I was sitting and drinking beer in a pub called The Swan, not far from my hotel.
I liked English beer, although I was rather baffled by its numerous different sorts. The one I was drinking this time was light and smelled of honey (perhaps even Yorkshire honey) – and that suited me fine.
The pub itself was very presentable, although it was a thoroughgoing tourist trap. (What else can a pub be, if it’s on a busy street right beside the famous Hyde Park and a dozen hotels?) An inscription on the wall proudly stated that the inn could trace its history back to the early seventeenth century, and at one time it had been the place where criminals on their way to the scaffold drank their final mug of beer.