After “betraying” Thandiwe, Llian was too agitated to sleep, and reluctant to disturb Wilm on the night before his test. Going to a tavern was the most appealing option but he needed a clear head more than anything. Besides, he was going to need every grint now.

He paced the empty streets for hours in a chilly, misting rain. Had he ruined everything on a matter of principle? He had certainly destroyed any hope of having the ban overturned. If Thandiwe became master he was finished. And if she did not, what he had done would not endear him to the other two candidates. In their eyes he had betrayed a friend, so how could he be trusted?

Forget her, the mastership and everything else. It didn’t matter now. Only his quest was important, and he could not waste any more time. He had to break into the secret archives of the library right now, search them for any mention of the Merdrun and the summon stone, then go after it.

The decision came as a great relief. He had been too focused on doing things the right way, but with his career in ruins, what did he have to lose?

It was long after midnight and he was striding down to the college when a hand caught his arm. Thinking he was being attacked, Llian tried to pull free, but the huge old fellow who had hold of him did not let go. He wore sandals and a scarlet-and-blue kilt, and the street lamp illuminated a bald head.

“Who are you?” cried Llian.

“I’m Bufo, captain of the college guard for as long as Wistan is around. The hour he goes, I go too.”

He released Llian’s bicep. Llian rubbed it; the captain’s grip was as hard as a pipe wrench.

“Come, Wistan wants to see you without delay.”

“But… it must be two in the morning.”

“It’s gone half past three,” said Bufo. “You’ve tried to see him four times in the past week. Are you saying you don’t want to see him?”

“Of course I do. Er, how is he?”

“He doesn’t expect to live another week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No, you’re not. You always loathed him.”

“It’s true we were never the best of friends. But that was a long time ago.”

Bufo did not reply to this absurd statement, but led him through the college gates and down to Wistan’s rooms. Fires glowed in grates on either side of his small sitting room, which had teetering stacks of books and papers on every surface and was unpleasantly hot. Llian took off his wet coat and hung it on the stand.

“I’ve brought Master Llian,” said the captain.

“Thank you,” said a rasping voice from the darkness on the far side of the room. “Open a bottle of the Uncibular fifty-six, would you? Bring three glasses.”

Bufo indicated a shapeless armchair, so old that the leather was criss-crossed with cracks. The colour might once have been purple, brown or even blue. Llian sat; the seat felt as though it was stuffed with cobblestones. Bufo disappeared into the darkness.

Something squeaked and creaked and he reappeared, pushing Wistan in a wheeled chair that dwarfed his puny body. He had been an ugly baby, an even uglier young man and a grotesque old man. As an ancient, he was undoubtedly the most hideous living creature Llian had ever set eyes upon.

Wistan had a small, oddly shaped head on a remarkably long and scrawny neck off which his loose skin hung in wrinkled folds. His face was dish-shaped, as if someone had put a hand across it and pushed the middle inwards, but the dish narrowed at the top and flared out to a lantern of a jaw at the bottom. His lips, the only fleshy part of him, were thick and grey, his eyes small and bulging, and his flat-topped head was as bald as a basalt boulder.

Wistan’s body, which had always been spindly, had withered to skin and gristle. No wonder he could barely stand up, there was less muscle on him than on the lower leg of a chicken.

“Goodnight, Master Wistan,” said Llian, rising from his chair.

Wistan grunted. “A better night for me than you.”

Llian did not wonder about that. Wistan knew everything. He always had.

Wistan looked around. “It’s damned cold. Where are my blankets?”

Bufo wrapped a pair of charcoal-coloured blankets around Wistan up to the neck, leaving his stick arms out. The captain laid a second blanket across his meagre lap.

“You want the ban lifted?” Wistan continued.

“Yes,” said Llian.

From the corner of an eye Llian saw Bufo lever out a cork. He sniffed it, put it to one side, then slowly poured the red-brown wine into a decanter, swirled it several times and filled three glasses. He handed one to Wistan, gave Llian the second and took the third for himself.

“Thank you,” said Llian, savouring the aroma of the fifty-five-year-old wine.

“To our beloved college,” said Wistan, raising his glass. His arm shook.

Llian and Bufo echoed him. Llian took a small sip. The wine was sublime.

“To business,” said Wistan.

Llian couldn’t see what business they could have together, but he was prepared to eke out the moment as long as the bottle lasted.

“You passed a test tonight,” said Wistan.

“I didn’t know I was doing – Oh! At Thandiwe’s place. How did you hear about that?”

“Two of the masters in the room are mine. I knew Thandiwe was ambitious but I hadn’t realised her corruption had gone so far. Five hundred and fifty gold tells! That was a fine bit of sleuthing. How did Anjo get that kind of money?”

“From me,” Llian said bitterly.

Wistan’s dung-coloured eyebrows crawled up his pallid forehead. “I heard Gothryme was —”

“The bastard stole my manuscript of the Tale of the Mirror and sold it to Snoat.”

“And this was the reason you decided to betray your old friend?”

“No! I’d planned to support Thandiwe, reluctantly, until I discovered that Anjo was Snoat’s man. If she was elected, he would control the college, and when he finished there would be nothing left of it. I wasn’t happy about her cronies’ plan to blacken your name either.”

“I would have thought you’d be delighted.” Wistan took a thoughtful sip.

“Well, I’m not sure we’ll ever be friends —”

Wistan’s laughter was a crow choking on an over-large frog. “You hate my guts.”

Llian considered the matter. “Time heals.” He studied his glass, which was empty. “And the wine has a mellowing influence.”

“Bufo, that’s a hint to top his glass up.”

It had not been, but Llian wasn’t going to complain. Bufo filled it generously.

“The college made me what I am,” said Llian. “I could not see it ruined.”

“Even at the cost of ruining your career and failing your family?”

“If Thandiwe became master, I felt the college’s ruin was certain.”

“What about your quest to find the summon stone and destroy it?”

“How do you know that?”

“A skeet came from Shand, asking me to aid you.”

“I need access to the secret archives.”

“You’ll have it in the morning.” Wistan studied his glass. “I’ve often regretted banning you, you know. We’ve become too safe, too pedestrian, too rule-bound. No wonder yours is the only Great Tale in hundreds of years. We need to take risks and make allowances, don’t we, Bufo?”

Bufo sipped his wine dreamily. “I just guard the gates, Master.”

“You’ve had nine and a half years to reconsider,” said Llian frostily. “I wrote to you many times after the seven years was up.”

“The Master of the College can impose a ban,” said Wistan, “but it takes a two-thirds majority of the staff to lift it. Over a third of the masters have always opposed it. Including Thandiwe.”

“Thandiwe blocked me?” said Llian, stunned.

“Every time it came up.”

This was a punch in the face. “For years she’s promised to lift the ban if she ever took your place.”

“She might have, once she had what she wanted so desperately. Until then the ban was a lever she could use to gain your support. But it lost her mine. I’d been going to make her master after me… until I realised she was betraying you.”

“And she accuses me of betraying her.” Llian gulped down half a glass. “The deceitful cow!”

“At least you know who your friends are,” said Bufo, leaning back in his chair and crossing his long legs.

“As do I,” said Wistan. “That’s why I’m planning to put a new candidate into the ring at the election tomorrow. You, Llian.”

Llian choked. Had Wistan been a joking man it would have been the best joke in the world, but Llian could not remember him ever cracking a smile. The other possibility was that he had gone insane, though there was no sign of that either.

“Having weighed the evidence,” said Wistan after a long pause, “you’ve come to the reluctant conclusion that I’m in earnest.”

“I… don’t know what to say. Master of the College. Me?”

“Absurd, isn’t it? And you’d still have to win the vote. But after the fracas earlier tonight, and with my support, you’ll certainly be the leading candidate.”

“But you hate me.”

Wistan sighed. “I’ve never hated you, though you were exceedingly troublesome. The old forget that they were once young and bold – or if they weren’t, that they would have liked to be. Both have their place: the old must ensure that the best of the past is preserved, while it’s the job of the young to get rid of all that’s useless and outdated. But when the balance goes too far one way or the other…

“You were the kind of student, and are the kind of chronicler, that we should be desperate to encourage. I’ve been master far too long; I allowed the college to become as fixed in its ways as I am in mine. It needs a new master who isn’t afraid to prune the dead wood. Will you accept my nomination?”

Master! Llian was in a daze. He would have all the knowledge of the world at his disposal and plenty of coin – both would make his quest a hundred times easier, and much quicker. But what would Karan think? Well, she had told him to do whatever it took. For the first time since Sulien’s initial nightmare, he felt hopeful.

“Yes,” said Llian. “I will.”

“Then I have something to show you. My dirt book – my notes on hundreds of the most powerful and important people in the west.”

“What do you use it for?”

“Mainly to extort small sums for the maintenance and improvement of the college – I too am corrupt in my own small way. But this isn’t the only weapon the master has. The college has many secrets… and a number of powers to protect our treasures.”

“I don’t know enough about the Secret Art to blow out a candle flame.”

“Nor did the majority of the seventy-three masters before me. Those who can use the art do so; for those who can’t, there are variety of devices that a non-adept can wield. There’s another book about that. I’ll show you another time. Bufo, my dirt book.”

Bufo put a small brown-covered book in Wistan’s shaking claw. He passed it to Llian.

“I thought it would be bigger,” said Llian.

“The pages are rice paper,” said Wistan, “and I write in a small hand. It suffices for the six hundred and seventy people I have information on. Don’t look at it now; take it with you. Bufo will burn an identical book and dispose of the ashes in such a way that he’ll be seen. Guard it with your life. When you’re alone, you’ll get a good deal of amusement from my pen portraits of our allies. I particularly refer you to the entry on yourself, though it’s… a trifle out of date.” Wistan almost smiled, but his facial muscles could not pull it off. “Go. I’ll see you at the election, which is at two in the afternoon, sharp.”

He extended his hand. Llian shook it. It was a collection of cold dry bones. “Thank you, Master.”

“Thank you. The lack of a worthy successor is the only reason I’ve hung on so long.” He hesitated. “What will you do first, as master?”

“Find the summon stone and destroy it. Until we’re safe from the Merdrun, there’s no point thinking about anything else.”

Wistan nodded and closed his eyes.

Llian put on his coat, settled the dirt book deep in his pocket and went out. He was surprised to see that the sun was up. It was after seven, and he had promised to wish Wilm well in the test. He ran all the way to their rooming house but Wilm had gone half an hour ago.

Llian hid the dirt book under his mattress. No, too obvious. He pulled the mattress out, made a slit in the far corner and slipped the book an arm’s length into the mouldy straw. Then he lay down fully dressed, but the long day and the sleepless night, the wine and all the dramas caught up with him.

He did not wake until the great clock in the market square tolled twelve, midday.