He was a reedy, evil-looking man who appeared to have bought half of his outfit from a shop called Looking Innocent When You Are Not (which did not exist) and the other half from Dark Daze, a very expensive boutique next to the Esoteric Emporium (which did). His black corduroy pants were similar to the ones favored by Monsieur Valentin, and his mildly checked shirt would have been, on its own, inoffensive. Forestfloor had, however, added a turquoise silk bow tie, an eagle-feather gilet, silk-chiffon socks and, most troublingly of all, fur-lined sandals. Added to all this was a bright mauve academic gown.

“I expect students at your level to know the basic theories of tragedy,” he said, without smiling, in his clipped Northern European voice. “I shall test you immediately. You will answer your questions on paper and in silence. Anyone who gets less than one hundred percent will be expelled from the university and this ridiculous exercise in outreach and pandering to stupidity. Ready?”

Effie and Maximilian exchanged a look. What was he up to? He clearly wanted to get rid of them as soon as possible, but he obviously had no idea who he was dealing with. It wasn’t just that Effie and her friends were brave members of the Gothmen who were skilled at facing down evil; they also happened to be the very cream of Mrs. Beathag Hide’s top set for English, and had been learning about tragedy since September.

“Great tragedy,” said Professor Forestfloor, “deals with what kind of person? Admirable, or ordinary?”

Everyone knew the answer to that. Mrs. Beathag Hide had been drumming it into them for weeks. Tragedy was about an admirable or famous person like a king or a queen or a celebrity who makes a dreadful mistake because of their enormous ambition and . . .

“What does the word ‘hamartia’ mean?” asked Professor Forestfloor.

Everyone knew that, too. It was Greek for “fatal flaw,” the thing that meant that the poor admirable person or celebrity couldn’t really help themselves. When given the choice between an early night and a diabolical plot involving a dagger and a love-potion, tragic heroes generally chose the latter. But at least they got to wear nice clothes. Some people said that the fatal flaw was not a character fault but was in fact one simple error made by the tragic hero. The one thing they could have done differently but that stopped them from living happily ever after.

Effie couldn’t help thinking of her last conversation with Cosmo. An error upon an error upon an error. And she kept doing things wrong. She kept making mistakes. Did she have a fatal flaw? Was she going to die a horrible tragic death? Was she actually a bad person, just as Rollo seemed to think—an island galloglass destined for a horrible end?