Luayan did not sleep that entire night: young Toria, awakening from time to time, saw the lamp burning on the table and her father pacing around the room. Toward morning, without saying a word, he dressed and rushed outside as if he was hurrying to help someone, but it was too late. Even mages cannot quicken the dead, and Toria’s mother was already dead when her husband freed her from a high snowdrift on the forest road.
“I couldn’t bear listening to her. I was blinded by pride and resentment, but what was the use of taking offense at that woman?”
“You are not responsible,” insisted Toria.
But her father averted his face. “I am responsible.”
Fox returned after midnight.
At first muted giggles and unintelligible chatter could be heard below the window; then someone began to sing a mournful song, which was almost immediately cut short by a gasp, as if the singer had received a friendly punch on the back.
A brief silence followed, which was then exchanged for rustles in the corridor; the door squeaked open, and Fox stumbled into the room in complete darkness.
The wooden bed groaned under the weight of his gaunt body. Fabric rustled, and first one boot and then the other fell onto the floor. Fox stretched and yawned contentedly, recalling, apparently, tonight’s adventure and the complete success of his gigantic cucumber. Already drifting off into sleep, he suddenly heard Egert say softly, “Gaetan.”
Fox’s bed squeaked. Surprised, he turned over onto his side. “And why is it that you’re not sleeping, eh?” The diffuse good-natured quality of his voice betrayed just how much wine he had drunk.
“Gaetan,” Egert repeated with a sigh. “Tell me what you know about the dean.”
The room became quiet, very quiet; somewhere in the distance a cricket chirped. A shutter banged, and once again there was silence.
“You’re such an idiot, Egert,” said Fox, his voice already different, more sober. “You’ve found a wonderful topic for the early hours of the morning.” He paused, sniffed angrily, and then added testily, “And anyway, you’d know better. After all, it seems you know each other.”
“So it seems,” whispered Egert.
“Well, there you go. Now sleep.” The bed under Fox fairly screamed, so adamantly did he turn his face to the wall.
A moth was fluttering against the glass; the drumming of its tiny wings broke off and then came to life with renewed vigor. It did not matter if he closed his eyes or kept them wide open: the pervasive dark was as thick as wax, and it seemed to crawl over his eyes. Egert quieted, but as always in the dark, he felt very ill at ease.
Gaetan’s bed came alive again, but the squeak was cut short as it reached its highest pitch. “And what are you to the dean, anyway?” Fox asked the darkness in a hissing whisper. “What does he have to do with you? And what do you have to do with him? Well?”
Egert pulled his blanket up to his chin. Addressing himself to the invisible ceiling, he said, “He promised to help me. And I … I don’t know. I’m afraid of him. And then, she still…”
“She? Who’s she?” promptly asked the darkness.
“She is Toria.” Egert’s lips unwillingly formed the name.
“Toria?” asked Fox apprehensively and yet at the same time wistfully. He sighed loudly and sorrowfully said, “Forget about it.”
The night watchmen called to one another far away in the city.
“Does he teach her sorcery?” Egert asked, his heart fluttering.
Fox once again crossly turned over in bed. “You were born a fool, and you’ll die a fool. He doesn’t teach magic to anyone! It’s not arithmetic or shoe-making.”
The silence settled in once again, broken only by the rustle of the moth and the angry huffing of Fox.
“But he is a mage, right?” asked Egert, overcoming his involuntary timidity. “He’s an archmage, right? That’s why I…”
He wanted to say that that was why he came to the city, to meet the archmage, about whom he had heard on the roads and in the inns along the way; he wanted to say this, but he faltered, afraid to betray himself more than he should. Fortunately, Fox did not notice. His bed gave yet another squeak.
“I—,” began Egert again, but Fox unexpectedly interrupted him.
The voice of the freckled boy sounded unusually serious, even a bit emotional. “This is my second year in the university. And all I can tell you is that Dean Luayan, he’s … it’s possible that he’s not entirely human.” He took a breath. “But he’s never worked evil on anyone. No one in the world knows history better than he does, that’s for sure. Only, you’re right to fear him, Egert. One day—you can’t go gossiping about this to anyone—I saw it myself, Egert! An old crone with a drum came to the square. She was a beggar; she drummed and asked for alms. People talked about her, said it was better to keep your distance. But I decided to go take a look at her. I was curious. I was near her when I saw the dean coming. He caught up to the crone, and she suddenly turned around and glared. I was standing to the side, I tell you, but that glare nearly killed me. But the crone stopped drumming; it just spluttered out. She whispered something, and even though I couldn’t make out the exact words, they scraped like nails against a chalkboard. Well, then the dean also said something to her.… It was such a word.… It resounded in my ears for three days. Then he dragged her away, not with his hands, but as if with an invisible rope. And I, a fool, dragged myself after him, although my knees were shaking. They turned into a breezeway and the crone … There, where the crone had stood, I swear, was a viper, a heavy, slimy viper, coiled, its jaws open wide toward the dean, and then he raised his hand and from that hand…”
Strangely, Fox stopped short and fell silent.
Egert lay still, trying, without much success, to keep himself from shaking nervously. “Well?” he forced out finally.
Fox moved. He stood. He groped for the tinderbox on the table with his hands.
“Well!” moaned Egert.
“Well,” Fox echoed dully, striking a spark. “The dean asked: ‘What is it that you need?’ And the snake hissed, ‘The auditor Egert Soll at my mercy.’”
A single candle flared up. Egert, covered in sweat, spit in disgust and at the same time breathed a sigh of relief: he was lying, the cursed joker that he was, he was lying. Probably.
Fox was standing in the middle of the room with the candle, and the black shadows on the walls were quivering: Gaetan’s hand was shaking slightly.
Both of them pretended to be sleeping until the dawn broke. In the morning, after spending a few long minutes inspecting the slanting scar on his cheek through the bristles of his beard, Egert forced himself to set out for the lecture.
Dean Luayan descended from his study a bit earlier than usual that day. Seeing him at the end of the corridor, Egert cringed into a dark, dank recess in the wall. Without noticing Egert, or perhaps just giving the impression that he did not notice him, the dean walked by. Just at the moment when he was passing Egert, Fox caught up to him.
Egert could not see him; he could only hear the unusually timid, confused voice of Gaetan: it seemed that he was asking forgiveness for something. “My cursed tongue…” came to Egert’s ears. “I myself don’t know how! I swear to Heaven, from now on I’ll be as silent as a fish!”
The dean said something soft and soothing in answer. Fox’s voice became more cheerful; as he walked away, his heels clicked on the floor.
The dean stood for a moment in thought; then he turned, and pausing in front of the alcove, he looked to the side and called out quietly, “Egert.”